


Framework

by marvelandimagine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Apologies, Break Up, F/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Songfic, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23636863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelandimagine/pseuds/marvelandimagine
Summary: Tumblr request: Bucky x reader songfic where he pushes her away and they break up but he’s miserable without her and it all ends in fluff and apologiesBased on "Framework" by The Story So Far
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

“What’s up with you lately?”

Bucky’s heartbeat quickens at your question, though he’s been expecting it for days now.

Last week, tangled up with you in bed on a lazy Sunday morning, watching you doze peacefully on his bare chest while he stroked your hair, he had been hit with the full realization that he was in love with you. And that brief rush of, dare he say it, happiness he felt when he just knew, had been quickly extinguished by fear and anxiety. His brain telling him that he had no business staying with you when you deserved someone better, someone stable. Someone whole. Telling him that he needed to run, that you having hold of his heart also meant you had the power to break it. And that lack of control, that vulnerability, it scared him. He’d just started trusting his brain, and he sure as hell didn’t know how to start trusting his heart.

So he started shutting you out. Cold answers. Less physical affection. Trying to find fault in you however he could – anything to make the inevitable more bearable. Forcing himself to create distance so he didn’t shatter when it was over.

He feigns ignorance at your question, though.

“What do you mean?”

He wondering if he’s taken things far enough for you to say you’re done, or if he’s going to have to be the one to pull the trigger.

“I mean you’ve been acting distant and I don’t know why. I didn’t say anything because I thought it was just something you were working through, but it’s lasted long enough where it seems like it’s not just a bad day or a mood.”

You shift your weight on the couch so your whole body faces him but he doesn’t move from his rigid seat, gaze fixed in front.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Now. Just do it now.” His brain is prodding him to end it, but the concern, the care in your tone keeps him frozen in place.

“Babe, look at me.” 

He reluctantly turns his head, eyes flickering up only briefly to meet yours, knowing full well that the longer he looks at you, at those beautiful eyes he had grown so used to losing himself in, the harder this was going to be.

“If you’re struggling with something or if did something that upset you, I want to know about it so we can talk through -”

“We should break up.”

_I still think on you, the place, the time_

_And all the solitude_

_There’s nothing I hate more_

_Than pushing you away with my fucked up attitude_

Your earnest request for him to open up is too much, giving him the final push he needs to get out.

Still, the silence between you weighs on his chest and he does his best to ignore the sinking sensation in his stomach. 

“Wait, what? You …” You pause, and Bucky can tell you’re rattled as he hears the confusion, the disbelief that hangs in every syllable. “Where is this coming from?” 

He doesn’t have time to formulate a response before you’re asking another question, assuming the worst.

“Did you meet someone else?”

“No.” It’s an immediate reaction this time, a truth he feels he owes you – the last thing he wants is you thinking he cheated. 

You hesitate for the span of one of Bucky’s pounding heartbeats before you press on.

“Ok. Then can you tell me why you don’t want this anymore? Maybe I’m an idiot, but other than the past few days, I thought things were going really good. And you were just telling me the same thing like a week ago and how happy you were with me and us, so I don’t understand what’s changed.”

Bucky realizes you’re looking for an answer that he’s not willing to give. That no one like you could ever want to be with someone like him, not for the long run, anyway. That his love won’t be enough for you, and he doesn’t think he can handle that. That he’s leaving before he gets left, and that you’ll thank him for it someday. 

That he’s terrified of feeling hurt and used.

So, he lies.

“This relationship doesn’t seem to mean to me what it means to you.” He pauses, eyes fixed on the floor, keeping his tone as detached as possible. “And I don’t think it ever will.”

The silence stretches on for what seems like an eternity between you before your words tumble out

“I don’t believe this. So, the past three months meant nothing to you? What about when you said how glad you were that we had each other, how you wanted to meet my mom … what you’re saying doesn’t match what you’ve been doing.”

Nothing. He doesn’t respond, clenching his flesh and metal hands as he tries to ignore the hurt in your voice. Despite his efforts to push you away, to lessen the blow, this isn’t a clean cut like he thought it would be. This is shot to the abdomen, messy and brutal and aching.

He doesn’t say anything and it finally pushes you over the edge, your yell jolting him out of his head.

“Are you really not even going to look at me?!”

And he does, and it takes everything in him to not change his mind, to just run and hold you and tell you what’s really going on with him as he sees the tears brimming in your eyes.

But he blinks twice, fast, and does his best to go numb.

“I thought I could convince myself that I felt more than I did.”

“Bullshit. This isn’t about you not feeling, it’s about the fact that you are. It’s something real and vulnerable and that scares the shit out of you.”

Goddammit. You knew him too well.

“You can think what you want, it doesn’t change my mind.”

You scoff, brushing away a tear with the back of your hand, your rush of words stinging through him.

“Wow. So I really am an idiot, and you’re a liar, then. Because either you’re not telling me the truth now, or you weren’t telling me the truth the entire time we’ve been together, which is what you’re saying, and that means you were perfectly fine leading me on to believe this was something more than you just wanting someone you could fuck who could make you feel better about your own shit.”

“I’m sorry.” Sorry he’s a mess, that he’s afraid, that he’s hurting you. Sorry that he ever thought he’d be able to have something normal with someone so good and real and bright.

You give a harsh laugh.

“No you’re not. But I am. Sorry that I wasted my time and energy and gave my heart to someone who just fucking shattered it and doesn’t care. Sorry that I fell —” Bucky snaps his head up but you don’t see it, getting up off the couch and pacing, running your hands over your face.

“You know what, it doesn’t matter. Because I guess I don’t matter to you.”

You stop and look at him, your wounded gaze penetrating through him, but he’s not focused on the flash of anger, he’s focused on the silent plea that is just as apparent – begging him to prove you wrong.

But he doesn’t. 

“Nothing? Wow, alright.” You turn away from him and grab your purse off the kitchen island,not bothering to look at him when you reach the door.

“Just throw out whatever shit I’ve left here out, I don’t want it back.”

He feels the slam of the door reverberating inside his chest, his enhanced hearing unable to ignore the sound of the ragged sob that escapes you now that you’re out of his sight.

Bucky places his head in his hands, trying to even out his shallow breathing. This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. But at least now, no one had a hold on him, right?. Now, he didn’t have to worry about the pain that would come when you inevitably left him for someone better.

But here, right now, the pain is more than enough, and he drags himself off the couch, striding across the living room to the kitchen. He opens the eye-level cabinet, rummaging through clinking bottles, turning them to look for the highest ABV. He settles on a three-quarter full bottle of vodka, debating for half a second on getting a glass, but knows he won’t need it. He slumps back down on the couch, bottle in one hand and the remote in the other.

He turns on the TV, searching until he finds Archer and presses play. He turns the volume up as he brings the bottle to his lips, savoring the way the escaping liquid burns – anything to distract him from the image of you crying, from the unconvincing loop in his head:

“It’s for the best. It’s for the best. She’s better off. I’m better off.”

And louder, still:

“You fucking coward.”

He’s praying this decision will hurt less in the morning.

-

_I’ve been counting paces_

_Since the last time we touched faces_

_It’s a lot like trading spaces_

_Where I’m the dormant one and you’re away_

“Somebody had a fun evening.”

Bucky awakens to Sam’s comment and groans in his throat, eyes squinting as they struggle to adjust to the daylight streaming in the apartment. He drags the throw pillow out from underneath him and places it on the top half of his face, relishing its coolness on his pounding headache.

He hears Sam pick up at least two clinking bottles, which is troubling because he only remembers pulling down one.

“Y/N leave already?”

“Fuck.”

The brief memory lapse he was granted upon waking up is gone now, and everything comes back in an instant. He feels fucking awful, nauseous, even, and he knows it has nothing to do with the booze. 

“It’ll get easier with time,” he tells himself, hoping if he wills it hard enough, it’ll come true. 

“She left last night,” Bucky mutters, pressing the pillow down more firmly on his eyes.

“Really? Why?”

Bucky’s murmur is even lower than before, but Sam still catches each word.

“We broke up.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, man. She say why?”

Bucky feels an initial flash of irritation at Sam for assuming you’re the one who chose to end things, but it fades quickly. If he was in Sam’s place, knowing you and how amazing of a person you were, he knows he’d think the same thing. 

“No. I broke up with her,” he replies, his voice low. 

Judging by the silent response, Bucky thinks Sam must’ve left the room, until he feels his ice pack of a pillow ripped out of his hands and smacked against his head.

“What the fuck?!” He sputters, jolting himself upright to see Sam standing over him, arms crossed.

“Give me one good reason why you decided to break up with that angel of a woman.”

Bucky runs his hands through his disheveled hair, muttering darkly.

“None of your business.”

“It is when I’ve got to deal with your moping, hungover ass.” Sam cocks an eyebrow.

“She cheat on you?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.” Sam rubs his face, a look of frustration noticeable, like he’s trying to restrain himself from hitting Bucky again.

“Let me get this straight. You, Mr. “I don’t know what normalcy is, I just want stability,” finds a woman – a good, smart, funny woman – who, baffling as it may be, wants to be with you and brings some of that normalcy and stability you’ve been talking about into your life. And just like that, you shut it down out of nowhere?”

Bucky glowers at Sam, gritting his teeth.

“It’s not like that, it’s complicated.”

Sam shakes his head.

“Whatever you say, man. You wanna self sabotage, that’s your deal.” He gives Bucky a wry smile before continuing. “All I’m gonna say is, as someone who’s done that whole deal, it doesn’t work. If you’re serious about building a new life, one you’re actually happy with, you’ve gotta be willing to give people a chance to stick around and be a part of it with you. Give yourself a chance to experience it.” 

Bucky’s irritation with Sam dissipates, turning instead to weariness. Deep down, he knows his best frenemy is probably (not probably, he is) right, but there’s no way he’s going to tell him that. So he settles for a half shrug that Sam answers with a sigh before walking away to the adjacent kitchen, pots and pans now clanging deliberately.

Normally, Bucky would rip the kitchen equipment out of his stupid hands, but right now, he’s just tired. Not just physically, but of himself. The kind of tired where he can’t even bring himself to get off the couch and move to his bed, where the sounds of the kitchen would be muffled.

He just rotates his body to bury his face in the crook of the couch’s arm, punching the pillow into a more comfortable shape beneath him as he tries to ignore the growing lump in his throat. 

He tells himself he made his decision, and now, despite the stinging behind his eyes, he has to live with it.


	2. Chapter 2

_How’d this happen?_

_Found your way in_

_So distracting_

_Splitting me in half again_

_Can’t ever sever the ties I made_

_The knots are strong_

_The framework’s laid_

_No matter how many things I say_

_The tangible will always be what I crave_

Six agonizing days pass, with Bucky coming to the conclusion that he actually can’t live with his decision. He feels like he’s drowning in regret, his anxiety is off the charts, and, plainly, he’s just fucking miserable.

Despite everything he said to you, to himself, to Sam, it’s become crystal clear that not having you in his life is hurting him way more than confronting his trust issues and fear of impermanence.

He misses you like hell. The scent of your clothes, the way you laugh, the warmth in your eyes and on your fingertips. How perfectly your bodies fit together, the way you gasp and growl his name. How you would hold him to your chest, tracing soothing patterns across his skin when he couldn’t stop shaking from the nightmares and the flashbacks. How funny and beautiful and kind you are. Even things that had irritated him, your reiterated suggestions of different therapies and mindfulness techniques (some that had helped you personally), how you never tried to hide rolling your eyes, you constantly misplacing your keys/phone/wallet and him finding it within seconds – he missed it all. All of you, the good and bad, had somehow become woven into his being. He could sooner get rid of how he felt about you than get rid of himself.

He told himself he wouldn’t do it, but he’s been repeatedly checking your Instagram page, heart thudding each time as he anticipates seeing the pictures of the two of you together deleted – or worse, seeing you with another guy’s arm wrapped around you. So far, though, there’s been nothing except a video post of your dog, Balto, howling and grinning at your TV screen when Ghost appears on the latest Game of Thrones. It just makes his heart ache more, that he chose to remove himself from these small, wonderful little moments in your life, and for what? 

He keeps staring at your number, his thumb hovering above the screen before he chucks the phone to the side, rubbing his eyes as he once again chickens out of contacting you. 

He reaches the breaking point when he starts reading back through old texts from around the time when you two first started dating. 

“I know we just said bye five minutes ago but I just wanted to say how happy I am that I met you. And you are definitely cuter than I am. That is all! Night, Buck.” And now the same blushing smile emoji that had him grinning from ear to ear makes his heart twinge.

“What the fuck did you do, Barnes?” he asks himself, letting the phone drop to his forehead with a dull thunk. 

He knows he wants—needs—you back, but he doesn’t know where to even begin. 

He sighs, grimacing as he rolls himself out of bed and trudges out toward the living room. There’s only one thing to do.

Bucky can already hear Sam’s voice emanating down the hall as he approaches:

“You call THAT avant garde?! That silhouette is as bland as toast. TOAST, Nina!”

Bucky sits himself down in the ottoman in the corner, careful not to walk in front of Sam — he thought he’d never hear the end of it when he accidentally blocked the screen during the last Grey’s Anatomy season finale.

“Project Runway again?” he asks, shaking his head.

“Hey, don’t you be getting all judgey now.” Sam smirks at Bucky, taking in his disheveled state. “You need to be jotting down notes, Kurt Cobain, wearing the same grungey-ass flannel three days in a row.”

Bucky shrugs.

“Not like I have anyone to impress.”

“You had someone to impress, but remember, you broke up with her, you cowardly fucking jackass.”

Bucky clenches his teeth as his scathing tone rattles in his head. He tries his best to ignore it and sound nonchalant as he swallows his pride to do something that normally sets his skin on edge: reach out to another person.

“Anyways, you busy?”

“Nah, I’ve had enough disappointment for today.” Sam grabs the remote, shutting off the screen and shifting to look at Bucky. “What’s up?”

Bucky exhales deeply, and he can practically feel the apprehension settling on his face, his habitual reluctance to open up kicking in.

“Um …” 

He bites the corner of his lip, trying to think over his words when his gut just wants him to yell, “I FUCKED UP please tell me how to get Y/N back.”

He’s spared having to, though, as Sam cuts through the silence:

“You want to get back together with Y/N, don’t you?”

Bucky stares at him.

“Is my misery that obvious?”

“Painfully.”

Despite his deadpan tone, the corner of Sam’s mouth twitches, and the two find themselves chuckling together. While he’ll never admit it to him, this is why Bucky views him as his best friend, why he trusts him – he always knows how to make him laugh when he needs it. He knows Sam has his back.

Bucky shakes his head, running a hand through his hair.

“So, what do I do?”

“Before I can try to answer that, you need to tell me why you broke up with her in the first place.”

Thought I’d burn the seams if they frayed

Thought I’d prove the point that I made

“I thought if I ended things, I’d be able to stop caring and feeling so vulnerable, I guess. That it’d be better for her, because she deserved better anyways, and maybe it’d be better for me … I don’t think I really believed that, deep down, but … I was scared. Scared of getting hurt, not being enough.” 

Bucky pauses and sighs, staring at the ground as he wrings his hands, running his flesh thumb back and forth over the smooth metal.

His voice is quiet, apprehensive.

“I was scared of how I felt about her.” 

Bucky glances up after a few moments of silence and is met with Sam looking at him more seriously than he can ever remember.

“Do you love her?”

Normally Bucky would flinch at such a direct question, but now, finally facing the consequences of keeping himself so guarded, he hesitates only for a fraction of a second before he nods, and it feels like a weight has left his chest in acknowledging how he feels.

He loves you. And he doesn’t have to run from that.

Sam nods back in response, running his hand along the dark stubble on his face as he begins in earnest.

“Look … you have a lot of regret in your life, right? I know it’s over things you didn’t choose, but now, you can choose. So what’s your choice gonna be? The way I see it, A) You can keep doing what you’re doing and let fear run you into the ground, or, B) you can tell that fear to go to hell, reach out to Y/N, buy her the nicest apology flowers you can, and tell her everything you just told me.”

“And if she tells me to go to hell?”

Sam sighs.

“I mean, she’s probably going to be pretty pissed at you —and rightfully so— but,” he pauses, his tone lightening, “God knows why, she seemed to really be into you. And nobody gets over a breakup that fast unless the relationship was already dead for awhile. You guys looked like you were solid until -”

“I blew everything to pieces, yeah.” 

Bucky sits quietly for a few seconds, pausing to sit and feel the knowing. The alignment in both his heart and mind, what he wants moving forward.

“I think choice B is the clear winner, here.” 

Sam waves his fist back and forth.

“Ding ding ding!”

Bucky nods.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice earnest as his eyes lock on Sam’s.

Sam’s returning smile is full of encouragement.

“Hey man, I got you. And I know this ain’t easy for you, opening up about stuff. Just know there’s always a seat at the VA group just waiting for your supersoldier ass to sit down, if you ever want to talk more.” 

“Nah I’m-” Bucky physically stops himself from finishing his default “nah, I’m good for now, but thanks” response, because if he’s realized anything throughout this entire ordeal, it’s that he is most definitely not “good,” or at least not doing as good as he’d like to be.

“Yeah, ok, I’ll do it.”

“For real?”

Bucky exhales deeply, his sadness hanging on every syllable.

“With all this … I don’t know, maybe I wouldn’t have acted the way I did with Y/N if I had started dealing with this sooner, getting more okay with talking and being honest with people,” he muses. “Like you said, if I really do want a normal life, I kinda need to find a better way to handle what’s going on in here,” he taps his temple and then his chest, “than just shutting people out.”

Incredulity is all over Sam’s face, coupled that something Bucky could swear looks like a glimmer of pride. 

“Wow, yeah, that’s great, that’s the kind of perspective that’ll help you move forward.” He grins. “You sure you’re feeling ok? This isn’t some fever-induced thing, right?” 

Bucky flips him off while Sam chuckles.

“Hilarious.”

“You know I’m playin.’” Sam nods vigorously. “Seriously, it’ll be good for you. Anyways, though, back to choice B.”

Bucky feels the rise and fall of his chest pick up in nervous anticipation, but he slides the phone out from the pocket of his jeans anyways, thumbs tapping away on its surface. 

“Hey. Can we meet up?” 

Before he can second guess himself, he hits send, promptly hurling the phone onto the opposite corner of the couch where Sam is perched.

“Watch it!”

“You tell me what she says back. I don’t wanna see it first.”

However long you’re gone, I will wait, I will wait.

And then an agonizing, crawling two hours pass, with Bucky finding himself unable to focus on the National Geographic moon landing documentary that would normally absorb him entirely, his eyes constantly straying from the screen to the phone sitting silently in the corner. You never took this long to answer a text when you were dating, so he knows you’re ignoring him.

“Maybe she blocked you and didn’t even see it.”

He’s just about to ask Sam for the phone back to message you on Instagram, past the point of caring how desperate he looks because it’s the truth, when it pings.

Sam snaps out from his half-napping state at the sound, stretching across the couch and grabbing the phone. He pulls a face and Bucky’s heart sinks – Sam might as well have said “yikes” out loud.

“What’d she say?”

Sam looks at him with the tiniest bit of pity, tossing the phone back.

“Why.”

“Why? That’s it?” Bucky looks down at the screen in disbelief, and there it is, the one-word response.

“Yup.”

Bucky buries his head in the throw pillow closest to him, muffling his yell. 

“What do I even say to that?! She’s pissed off, and I don’t wanna do this over text.”

“You don’t have to do it all over text, but you gotta give her something. The last thing you said to her was that you wanted to break up, and now you want to see her. I’m guessing she doesn’t want to assume you want to get back together, but if you do, she wants you to know she’s still upset.” Sam shrugs. “You messed up, now you gotta work for it.”

Bucky takes the pillow off his face, grimacing.

“Goddammit.”

He takes a minute to craft his reply, staring down at the screen.

“Because you were right about everything. I never should have ended us, I’m an idiot and miss you like hell. I just want to talk.” He hits send and turns the phone over, heart thumping inside his chest.

Ten minutes pass before you answer:

“I’ll be home until 7, I have plans after.”

Bucky’s stomach drops as his brain conjures images of you dressed up but not for him, for some other guy, his metal hand clenching involuntarily.

“You don’t know that you don’t know that, c’mon. It’s only been six days.”

He replies immediately:

“Can I come see you at 5?”

“Ok.”

Even with the realization that it’s already 4:10 and he’s gonna have to haul ass to Adams Morgan while still finding the time to get you the nicest flowers he can, Bucky already feels lighter with hope. You agreed to see him. You’re giving him at least a fraction of a chance to put things back together. 

He flies up off the couch and takes off down the hall.

“I’m meeting her at her place at 5!”

Sam calls out to his retreating back, and Bucky allows himself a small smile.

“Hey, go get her. But you go shower first!”


End file.
